Anything Again

Poised precisely at her table for one, she is immaculately groomed, her sunglasses by Chanel.

The waiter brings six oysters on a bed of crushed ice, placing them before her with an unwelcome flourish.

Minutes pass. Finally she lifts one shell, sips a little, then swallows the creature whole. As its saltiness slides down her throat she inhales its sulphur breeze. Like the last time her bare toes touched down on sand. When coastal gales blew hair across her smile and the horizon was wide.

The waiter brings toasted focaccia, piled with sautéed chanterelles.

She leans into the rising steam, turns the plate slowly - once, twice - then spears the mushrooms on silver tines and touches them to barely-parted lips. It is in her mouth again, the peaty earth where she buried her face the last time she was by his side. When they lifted her away screaming so the void could be filled before dark.

Someone once told her chocolate is addictive. That the physical pleasure from its chemical rush is like falling in love, like orgasm, like bliss. She pushes the spoon into her mouth and waits to feel anything again.

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Love the way you've made the prose as pristine as she is, then puncture it with 'It is in her mouth again, the peaty earth where she buried her face the last time she was by his side'. Punched me *right there*. Brilliant.

Such a good piece, Claire. Great sense of the image: "She leans into the rising steam, turns the plate slowly - once, twice - then spears the mushrooms on silver tines and touches them to barely-parted lips. It is in her mouth again, the peaty earth where she buried her face the last time she was by his side."

Thank you, lovely people for your kind comments and all the faves! This woman has been on my mind for a while, she was going to be a longer piece but the Linda's 52/250 theme fit so well with what was on her mind.
@Matthew - I'm just learning to find oysters sexy. I think they're terribly grown up things.

Really scrumptious writing (no pun), what you did with the food grabbed me hard, and then it got very earthy and got me to wondering if she had a crack up, and then this powerful ending that gave me chills
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This is fantastic, well-written. The sensuousness of food is perfectly drawn, and the narrator's loss is painted vividly with negative space. And using food to "feel" is something I've actually been thinking a lot about myself as of late.

Ah, the beauty of the food, the sensuality of it, the lush words on the page -- all of it is in such perfect contrast to the character portrayed, whom we only realize at that killer ending is waiting to feel it as we do. Amazing that the reader can experience all this more than she can: what a wonderfully executed idea.